


Capitol

by semele



Category: Bloodlines Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five snapshots from the Capitoline Museum in Rome... and one from somewhere else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capitol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_of_Suburbia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/gifts).



**I. Hand**

Constantine's hand looks ridiculous on its postument, and Sydney can't quite conceal an unscientific grin at the sight of the threateningly raised finger, not as scary as it should be now that it's not attached to an arm. It doesn't help that Adrian is making the show of circling the stone hand from right to left and left to right, studying it with mock seriousness.

“And people say _I'm_ vain,” he says finally, and Sydney can't help following his gaze to the giant foot on the other side of the yard.

Of course he makes an attempt to leisurely lounge on top of it, and of course he can't even climb it. He lands gracelessly on his butt, and shoots all the remains of Constantine a filthy look, which, to be fair, they probably deserve. Adrian, being Adrian, starts rambling, and Sydney, emerged in warmth, and sun, and Rome, relaxes enough to let herself have uncensored opinions. The remnants of a once gigantic momument are still large enough to be looming over them, but she doesn't let it affect her. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as an thought forms freely in her mind: Sydney Sage isn't a fan of the Late Empire and its robust rituals, and she can't say she trusts Constantine's blank eyes and his ominously raised finger.

They remind her of something she knows.

***

**II. Neck**

There is something hypnotic about the slope of this woman's neck, and the way her veil hugs it oh-so-softly. This is stone, Sydney has to remind herself, and incredibly old stone, for that matter. Adrian does a pretty good job at pretending that he isn't bored to tears, but Sydney knows this isn't his thing. While he likes to present a whole variety of emotions in what he creates, he prefers to look at art that makes his heart race, at things sharp enough to grasp his vivid mind, and hold his attention in awe.

But Sydney can't make herself move on for his sake; not now, not yet. She lovingly traces the terracotta with her fingers until she reaches the hem of the woman's tunic, then moves them back up to her hairdo. The plaque near the sculpture says that this is an Etruscan grave, and Sydney suddenly remembers a book she ended up not reading when she was fifteen or sixteen. It was an album filled with sculptures and jewels, of stone people with mysterious smile, whose hands, Sydney imagined, could spend years perfecting a single earring, one earring, nothing else.

The book, of course, was promptly deemed redundant, and removed from her home library. 

**III. Smile**

Sydney's favorite thing about this girl's smile is that it's so obviously fake. No person alive has this kind of smile, so serene and mysterious at the same time. This is a smile of someone who never lived, but merely stood at crossroads, and watched life pass them by.

She can relate.

What she doesn't like is that Adrian is looking at the herm way too closely, and soon he's bound to spot the resemblance. Sydney doesn't shy away from self-reflection, not now, not at this point, but it doesn't mean that she wants company or commentary. There are changes that she simply needs to make all by herself.

She has no idea how to distract Adrian from the herm, so she tells him its story as she knows it: about a tiny goddess of a crossroads, similar to her many sisters in shape and size, and her archaic smile. As she wonders if she's quite desperate enough to start talking about how most herms, unlike this one, had erect penises attached to them, Adrian impatiently gestures her to come closer.

“Look here,” he says, squinting a bit. “She has an amazing nose, doesn't she?”

**IV. Shoulder**

It takes some effort to ignore the overwhelming sadness of the Gaul, but Sydney manages just like she knows she has to. She isn't here for the sadness, and although she knows that Rome is built on a mixture of beauty and bloodshed, one half inseparable from the other, it's the beauty she needs now.

So she ignores the stone palm resting heavily above the stone knee, and focuses on the shoulder instead. It's a gorgeous shoulder, strong, but not bulky, very elegant in its quiet power. It occurs to her that this man, with his lean frame and long limbs, could easily be taken for a Moroi. True, he has more muscles than any Moroi she's ever seen, but then, he's a warrior, like many of them were in those distant centuries when vampires didn't have their Courts, and humans their Alchemists.

She wants to ask Adrian's opinion, but he isn't looking at the Gaul at all. He's staring at her instead, and Sydney knows it's her aura he's observing with careful, concerned eyes.

“I'm okay,” she whispers. “Don't look at the hand. It's important to look at the shoulder.”

He doesn't understand, can't possibly understand, but to his credit, he immediately turns his eyes to the Dying Gaul, and spends long minutes trying to.

**V. Breast**

Sydney isn't sure if she likes this last sculpture. She's tired, very, very tired, and annoyed with herself, because the Capitol is not a place to be tired.

So maybe it's just that – a bias of a mind too tired to process beauty, but she doesn't like Venus's false modesty. Her breasts are especially annoying. Sydney doesn't like the way she pretends to cover them, but really just uses her hand to expose them better. Her body is perfect in the way ancient sculptures often are, it's smooth, soft curves contrasting unpleasantly with the coldness of the stone it's made of.

“There was this myth, wasn't there?” asks Adrian out of the blue. “About a man who fell in love with a sculpture.”

“Pygmalion,” replies Sydney automatically. Clearly, she isn't too tired to answer mythology questions.

“Tell me about him.”

Venus is easier to look at as Sydney lets words flow around the stone and warm it up. She's a coquette, no questions about it, but the further Sydney gets with her story, the fewer unpleasant details she finds, until her frown is replaced by an understanding smile. She's still too tired to explain what exactly she understood, but it's not like she needs to explain it.

Venus, it seems, is acquired taste.

**VI. Room**

Sydney wakes with a start, and her hand automatically slides from her stiff neck and swollen shoulder until it reaches her breast. She lets out a stifled laugh, one part hysteria, three parts self-mockery. They shouldn't be doing this. Sydney knows that Adrian is barely sleeping as it is, all his energy devoted to finding her, finding her at all cost. She doesn't have to be able to read auras to see desperation oozing from him, and surely seeping into Jill's mind as well.

The spirit dreams he creates for her benefit every few nights, whenever he can spare the energy, aren't exactly helping the case. Sydney knows she should be resisting them, and she did – weeks (months?) ago, when Adrian first started showing up, she shooed him away after a brief kiss. She doesn't know where the Alchemists are keeping her anyway, so there's no point in him risking the delicate equilibrium of his mind.

“You need this,” he tells her whenever she gathers enough courage to protest. Before she can utter another word, he plunges her into a new room, another wonder waiting for her greedy eyes. It's the same museum every night, because Sydney is nothing if not thorough, and Adrian is happy to oblige, one masterpiece at a time.

Sometimes, in moments of weakness she doesn't mention even to him, she wonders how many rooms they have left.


End file.
